


not so complicated

by athena3062



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, College AU, F/M, cs au week, cs au week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:10:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7511348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena3062/pseuds/athena3062
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CS AU. Emma’s a single mom, university employee and part-time student. Killian’s a new assistant professor. When the class schedule changes unexpected, Emma goes to Killian’s office with a simple request: sign the drop form so she could register for another class. But he suggests an alternative option.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not so complicated

**Author's Note:**

> Written for CS AU Week 2016, Day 3: Beloved Tropes. My twist on a College AU.

Three sharp knocks on the door frame pulled Killian away from his inbox. Forty-six unread emails and he’d only just begun. His office was stuffy, the borrowed floor fan losing its battle against the humidity.

He looked up from the bright screen, missing the familiar rhythms of his graduate university.

A woman stood in the hallway, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She shifted a bag higher on her shoulder.

“Hi,” she said, “I’m Emma Swan. I’m signed up for your History 207 class.”

“Come in,” he urged, gesturing across the desk. It was only Tuesday; her course wouldn’t begin until Thursday.

She crossed the threshold quickly, setting herself on the edge of the nearest chair, her bag slipping to the floor. Beneath the fluorescent lights, she looked older than most of his students. Mid-twenties if he had to guess.

Killian lowered his laptop screen. “What can I do for you?“

He was off-balance here; nothing felt right. There was a peculiar smell in the third-floor hallway leading to his shared office (with no space in the history wing, he was two floors below his colleagues, sandwiched between a visiting mathematics professor and a Shakespeare expert who looked slightly dazed at all hours). The labyrinth of paths connecting one campus to another all looked identical. With no signs to orient himself, he’d gotten lost trying to find his mailbox, the administration building and the dining hall. He’d arrived ten minute late to his new faculty orientation, out of breath and sweating profusely after getting directions from a group of students playing Frisbee.

She leaned left, one hand searching for something in her bag. "I need to drop your class.”

“Before it’s begun? That’s a new record, even for me.“ He tried to keep his voice light but was already on edge. His first freshman seminar had been a disaster; fifty-seven students who looked terrified, bewildered and bored in equal measures.

She pulled a folder from her bag, extracting a rectangular form. "It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?“ His tone was sharp. Before, when he was at an insinuation where things made sense, he wouldn’t have bothered to ask. He would have signed the papers and sent the student back into the cycle of add/drop. But he’d been chewed out quite properly by Dean Gold for failing to submit a ridiculous piece of paperwork (he was a professor, not a first-year student, and yet he’d been reduced to stammering and apologizing over the phone) and his patience was in short supply.

She met his gaze, her green eyes staring intently as she slid the folder across the desk. "It’s the schedule. The course was supposed to be over at four.”

“Ah.” He’d received the schedule change last week via email, with no explanation or consultation. He’d gone to his department head, and although Marian was sympathetic, she couldn’t change the schedule. The rooms were double-booked and his other option was to take on another freshman seminar.

"And that’s a problem?” She wouldn’t be the first student to drop the course, especially with the schedule change, but he was tired of students who changed courses with little consideration for the person teaching each course. Too many drops and questions would be raised about Killian’s effectiveness. He needed to prove himself.

She stared across the desk. “Yes.”

“Such as?” His hand hovered over the paper.

The corners of her mouth twisted. “I have a kid,” she replied, eyes staring intently at him. She raised her eyebrows, challenging him to ask more questions.

Killian glanced down at her transcript. The courses were scattered over the last five years. “You’re a part-time student?”

Emma nodded. “I have three more courses to go. I want to be done by the spring.”

Intrigued, he read on, not caring if he appeared rude. He flipped past the transcript and arrived at a memo printed on University letterhead. “You’re an employee?”

He looked up in surprise; most of the students at the school were full-time, straight out of high school or transfers from another institution. The only job he’d ever structured courses around was teaching, and it had always been possible to switch sections to accommodate his requirements.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I’m over in Admissions at the front desk.“ She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "It’s hard enough to get the coverage without these crazy changes.”

Killian nodded; he recognized the look of someone used to doing everything on her own. The set of her jaw reminded him of Liam. He turned back to her transcript. If he signed the drop form, she would still be missing a specialized history course.

“I’m teaching a night class.” It was a two-hundred level course, same as the one she was trying to drop. “It’s less modern but it would cover your history requirement.”

The course in question was, by his own admission, the dullest subject he could have been assigned, but assistant professors couldn’t be too particular. It was mostly upperclassmen and met only one night a week.

She shook her head, “I can’t. My kid’s only nine.” Her mouth twisted, as though she wanted to say more but had stopped herself.

“So bring him along.” It had been twenty-some years since he was that age, but from what he remembered the boy should be able to entertain himself (and not cause too much damage) in three hour session. "Doesn’t he have homework?”

Her forehead wrinkled. “No. No way. I’m not bringing him to class with me.” Her tone implied that Killian had suggested leaving the lad outside alone. "I’ll pick up another class somewhere else.” She reached out her hand for the folder. He handed it back, the drop form still in his left hand.

“It’s small,” he explained, “only twelve students. We barely made the minimum cutoff, so they put me in the workshop room.“

"Okay,” she said, drawing out the word. “And how would this help?”

“There’s an adjacent office,” Killian replied, “he could stay there.” Beth (occupant of the office in question) wouldn’t mind; she was famous for bringing her dog to campus and letting him roam around both spaces.

“Why are you doing this?” Emma was still skeptical.

He gestured at the paper, “you’ve got three classes left. Why drag it out any longer if you don’t have to?“

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “Say I believe you, which I don’t, by the way. What’s in for you?”

“Nothing.” He clenched his jaw tightly.

They stared at each other for a long minute until she yielded. “I don’t take charity.” Her green eyes glittered; clearly she was as stubborn as he was, a feat that impressed Killian.

“I wouldn’t dream of such an affront.” He spread his hands over the table. “No ulterior motives, nothing sinister. I just want to help.”

She grimaced. “Fine. But if it’s weird…”

“The transfer window will be open until next week. Try it and if it doesn’t work, I’ll sign the papers.”

She stood up quickly. “Deal.”

Killian scribbled the course number on a sticky note. “I’ll see you tomorrow night then.” He handed Emma her pile of papers with a smile.

///////

The following day, Killian left his office at five thirty-one, confident he’d be the first one to arrive. He barreled down the center of the staircase, grateful this course was in the same building as his office (he only had to balance his briefcase and coffee mug). His freshman seminar met across campus and Killian was already dreading the trek through piles of snow and students taking selfies in front of snow-covered trees.

He pushed open the fire doors separating the stairwell from the hallway. Most of the office doors were closed – this floor housed mathematics professors but the classrooms were small and perfect for seminars with less than twenty students. The lights were already on when he stepped into the small workshop space but the chairs were empty.

“Hey.” Kilian turned around, nearly colliding with Emma. She stood in the doorway, a brown strap (briefcase or purse, he couldn’t tell which) across her chest.

“Hello.” He reached forward to shake her hand but stopped abruptly, conscious of the briefcase in his one hand and his coffee mug in the other.

The left corner of her mouth quirked into a half-smile. For a brief moment, Killian wondered if she’d made other arrangements for her lad.

“Hi.” A small boy followed Emma into the classroom, his shoulders rounded beneath the weight of a backpack that seemed ready to pull him backward and onto the ground. “I’m Henry.” His dark hair and dark eyes barely resembled Emma. But the smile curling at his mouth was already familiar.

“Hello Henry.” Killian set his briefcase down, choosing a seat in the middle of the table, facing the windows. “You’re early,” he said to Emma.

She shuffled from one foot to another. “Yeah. We walked fast.”

Killian picked up his coffee, reminding himself that he needed to maintain distance. He was subletting a flat (apartment, he reminded himself with a mental shake) from a physics professor who seemed to have left all of his belongings strewn across the floor before departing for the semester. It was temporary, until he could find a better place, one that wasn’t surrounded on three sides by students (he’d walked through the streets of the college town and had seen backyards overrun by beer cans and makeshift tables of plywood and trash bins).

Fortunately Emma swung the conversation around before he could dwell too deeply on his housing situation. “So is that the office?”

Henry bounded across the room. “Can I go in?” He looked over his shoulder for confirmation.

Emma glanced sideways at Killian. He nodded and she gestured at the open door. “Sure kid.”

Killian didn’t need to follow them into the office. He’d already cleared use of the office with Beth. She’d shown Killian a round table set up close to the door, with plenty of room for the boy to spread out his books.

He could hear the low murmur of voices as Henry dropped his backpack. “But what if I get hungry?”

“Eat your apple.“ Emma’s reply was quiet  but he could still hear her perfectly.

Killian leaned back in his chair so he could look into the office. Henry had already unpacked a spiral notebook and textbook from his bag.

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?”

“It’s two doors down on the right,” he told Henry, barely glancing at Emma.

“Cool.” Henry drummed his hands on his notebook.

“I’ll check your homework after,” Emma said. “But you’ve got your book, right?”

“Yeah mom.”

Killian looked up from his notes when she stepped out of the office, pulling the door partially shut.

Emma dropped her bag on the table, choosing the seat closest to the office door. “And you’re sure this is okay?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

In truth he’d only asked Beth if he could use the office but hadn’t mentioned it would be the temporary home of a fourth grader. He hadn’t mentioned anything to Marian (in case Emma didn’t stay in the class, he didn’t want to draw attention to the strange situation).

///////

It took six classes before anyone commented on the office light. By the tenth class, Henry had developed a routine of homework, snack and reading. Killian didn’t linger after class, didn’t take his time packing up his laptop and notes in order to gain an audience with Emma, but Henry had taken a shine to him. It started with a question from one of his books (one of Henry’s library books, not the unpublished manuscript Killian was revised for spring publication), more insightful than Killian expected from someone so young. The lad had waited until the end of class – waiting for the quiet that followed the noisy exit into the hallway – and appeared in the doorway, waving to get Killian’s attention.

Emma, still sitting with her back to the office door hadn’t noticed until Killian walked around the table. And so they began to talk, Killian Jones and Henry Swan, about mythology and history. Later they talked about soccer, Emma leaning against the edge of the table as the clock ticked.

The last week of classes brought the usual buzz of excitement - during the day students stared out the tall windows at the snow-covered quad and the evening classes began with a flurry of laughter. Everyone, from the faculty to the students, looked forward to the end of term.

Emma arrived early for the last class. Usually Killian who turned on the lights but she had already taken care of that before he pushed open the door. There was no class-wide exam for the seminar - he’d given the option of an oral exam or a research paper. Only Emma had chosen the paper.

He tugged the strap of his bag over his head, laying it onto the table. The light was off in the office.

“No Henry?”

She shook her head. “I wanted to thank you,” she said, “for letting him audit.”

Killian smiled. “It was no trouble.”

Her ponytail swung across her shoulders. “But still, I wanted to say thank you. Properly.”

He busied himself with pulling things from his bag, rather than look at her. “How’s the paper?”

“Okay. It’s not done yet.”

He wasn’t surprised; she’d chosen an ambitious topic, winding together changing weaponry with military history and an emphasis on women in battle. If done well, it was the kind of topic one could study for years. If not, it would be unfocused and cluttered.

“I should be done by Tuesday,” she finished.

Killian snapped back to attention. He had exams until the following Friday, leaving him nine days to score and post grades with the registrar. “That’s fine,” he said gruffly.

Loud voices in the hallway disrupted the quiet moment. He returned his attention to unpacking his bag, reminding himself that he needed to keep distance between them.

“Are you going to the holiday party?” Her question caught him off-guard.

He glanced up from his papers. “I didn’t realize it was optional.” The weather forecast was predicting a snowstorm. Killian was hoping the event would be cancelled but had been warned by his office-mate that it was highly unlikely.

Her smile was genuine. “It’s not.” Emma untangled her red scarf from around her neck. “But the food’s usually pretty good.”

He nodded, not sure what to say. “Then I suppose I’ll see you there.”

Two students walked into the room, chatting quietly. They greeted Emma and Killian, settling on opposite sides of the rectangular table. Killian turned his attention to the short agenda he’d prepared for the final class.

///////

Killian stared out the door at the snow drifts flanking the sidewalk. The snow was still falling steadily and the holiday party was scheduled to start in twenty minutes. His shoes were highly unsuited to walking across campus. He gripped the railing and climbed down the stairs, cursing the weather quietly. The party was scheduled to run from one until five but he had it on good authority that most people left before three.

“Jones!” He turned quickly at the sound of his name. Emma waved as she came closer, two figures in long puffy coats, scarves and hats following behind.

“I thought that was you,” she said, stopping on his left. Her nose was bright pink from the cold and the upturned hood of her coat covered most of her face. She introduced her colleagues quickly, waving her gloved hand in front of both women. “This is Ruby and Belle. Ruby’s in Admissions with me and Belle’s an English professor. Just got back yesterday from her sabbatical.”

“Hello,” he replied, his fingers already aching with cold. “Killian Jones.”

“Nice to meet you. Now can we go? I’m losing feeling in my feet,” Ruby complained. He glanced over at the black stockings and dark shoes but didn’t comment.

“Alright, come on.” Emma led the way down the sidewalk. Despite the rapid work of the grounds crew, the sidewalks were already covered by a fluffy layer of snow.

Belle squinted beneath her turquoise hat. “History, right?”

“Aye.” He fell into step next to Belle. The walk across campus passed quickly. As they neared the faculty dining room, Ruby waved at a group clustered near the entrance. “Let me guess, you’re ditching us for Victor?” Belle asked with a knowing expression.

Ruby flashed a smile, her dark red lips a stark contrast to her pale skin. Without a hat, her dark hair was flecked with snow. “Maybe.”

“Go on,” Emma replied, rolling her eyes at Killian. He chuckled quietly. “We’ll see you later.”

The blast of heat when they stepped inside the building was a welcome relief. Belle rubbed her hands together briskly. “I didn’t miss this at all,” she complained.

“Yes you did,” Emma answered.

Before Belle could respond, a woman with long red hair grabbed her arm. “You’re back!”

“Merida! Hi!” Belle wrapped her arms around the woman.

“Where are you sitting?” Emma asked Killian, pushing her hood back and tugging off her hat. “I think Lancelot was going to grab a table if you want to join us.”

“Us?” He scanned the crowded room, not seeing any familiar faces.

“Yeah, come on.” Emma grabbed his hand. Her fingers, warm from the protection of her gloves, burned his palm. He followed her through the dining room, past crowded tables of people he didn’t know, until they stopped at a table closest to the windows. Four people were already sitting with their backs to the windows, looking out at the crowd.

“Hey guys.” Emma released his hand, unzipping her coat with one hand and chatting with the person to her right. “This is Killian Jones from History.”

He made his introductions, hyper-aware of the brush of Emma’s shoulder against his arm. She draped her coat over the back of her chair. “Sit,” she urged him, pulling her chair away from the table.

Killian unfastened his own coat with clumsy fingers. He needed to find his gloves if he was going to survive the winter in this state. Before he could sit down, he felt a hand on his elbow.

“Hello stranger.”

He turned on his heel and found himself staring at his department head’s familiar face. “Marian.” He smiled widely. “Hello.”

“How’d you find your way back here?” She tapped the man standing next to her on the shoulder. “Lance, you’ve got to meet Killian.” Marian released Killian’s arm. “Killian this is my husband Lancelot. He’s Head of Admissions.”

Killian extended his right hand, mind spinning. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Lancelot had a wide smile. “How are you liking our little school?”

Killian chuckled. “I don’t think I’d call it little.”

Marian shook her head. “Ignore him. Otherwise he’ll start bending your ear about Admissions stats.”

Lancelot didn’t seem to mind his wife’s comment. He waved at a woman across the table. Clearly he knew more people at the party than Killian.

She came around Killian. “Emma! How are you?” The two woman hugged briefly as Killian struggled to pull out his chair.

Killian found himself sitting between Emma and an art professor named Jefferson. After explaining his large-scale installations in great detail, Jefferson turned his attention to the woman sitting beside him.

Killian passed the salad dressing to Emma. “So any plans for the interim?”

She shook her head. “Not really.  Henry wants to go skiing while he’s on break so we’ll do that.”

“I didn’t know you skied.”

Emma laughed. “I don’t. And neither does Henry.”

Killian nodded. “I’ve never tried it myself. My brother tried snowboarding when he was younger. It lasted almost three months.”

“What happened?”

“The lass he was trying to impress introduced him to her boyfriend.” Killian chuckled at the memory.

Their conversation turned to his plans. He’d agreed to teach two classes over the long break, in return for taking the summer off. He wanted to go back and visit Liam over the summer holiday. It would be the first time in years he hadn’t spent the entire summer doing research. He needed to finish paper revisions for a piece he was submitting in August but it could be done anywhere.

“Summer’s my favorite time here,” Emma admitted. “It’s like a completely different world.”

Over salad, he learned that she’d been working on staff for almost seven years. Before he could ask Emma another question, one of her colleagues pulled her into a story about a tour gone awry.

He leaned back in his chair and surveyed the crowded room. Laughter carried across the room, drowning out the sounds of silverware knocking and holiday music. The semester, and the holiday party, had gone faster than he’d expected.

///////

The spring semester arrived with four consecutive days of rain. He’d been staring at the tree outside his office window for the better part of an afternoon, laptop perched on a small table.

“Can I interrupt?”

He spun around in his desk chair. Emma stood silhouetted in the doorway.

Killian pushed the chair away from the desk. “Of course.” The last time he saw her was the holiday lunch. She’d gone back across campus with Marian and Lancelot. He’d returned to his office.

She’d submitted her final paper three days early, dropping it in his departmental mailbox. He’d posted her grade online. After the semester ended, he’d drafted an email to her but had never pressed send.

Winter break had slipped past, weeks of research broken up by teaching two classes. The spring semester had brought different courses and a new office, shared with another professor, but on the same floor as most of his department.

Killian waved her inside and Emma sat down in the only available chair. The office was tiny, barely larger than a closet, but with enough room for a desk, two chairs and a coat hook over the door. But he’d posted his office hours outside the door and he had a window.

“I wanted to tell you that it’s official. I’m graduating in May.” She clenched her hands in her lap but he could see the excitement.

“Congratulations,” he said, genuinely pleased. “What happened with your last two classes?”

“I took one over the interim. And I’m taking my last psych class this semester.”

“That’s great news. Did you tell Henry?”

“Not yet,” she replied, “I’m going to surprise him. Wait until it’s closer." Emma shook her head. "It's been a long time coming, you know?”

“Congratulations.” He was genuinely pleased by her accomplishment but the set of her shoulders made him hesitant to say more.

Emma shifted her coat to her other arm. “Look, I know this might sound crazy, but Henry’s on this Industrial Revolution kick and he’s already gone through half the books in the library. I was wondering if you had any suggestions.”

Killian raised his eyebrows. The lad was sharp but not ready for the dense volumes Killian surrounded himself with. But maybe he could find some focused materials. “Let me think.”

Emma flushed, or maybe it was a trick of the light. “Give me a pen,” she requested gently, “and I’ll give you my email.”

He handed her a pen from the desk. It made sense, the only email address he had for her was connected to the university (even when she was longer a student, it was still their employer’s email system). When she passed the paper back, her phone number was scribbled beneath the email address.

Killian looked up. Her cheeks were a bright pink. “I wanted to thank you,” she began hoarsely, “for last semester. Henry’s still talking about it.”

“It was my pleasure.” They had already gone through the motions of thank you and you’re welcome but Killian didn’t want to push. He’d lingered outside the Admissions building more times than he cared to admit during the interim session, wondering if it would be unwise to stop inside.

“I was wondering, maybe, if you wanted to get coffee sometime?” She grimaced, clearly uncomfortable. Killian nodded, unable to resist a wide smile.

“I’d like that,” he replied.

Emma smiled. “Oh. Okay.” She moved toward the door. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Count on it.” Killian waited until her footsteps receded before he pulled his phone out of the drawer. He tapped out a new message. “How’s tomorrow? 1pm?”

Her response was nearly instantaneous. “Okay.” A second message buzzed across the screen before he could answer. “But no dining hall.”

Two days later he dropped off a list of books beneath her keyboard at the front desk. Four days later she left a doughnut on his desk.

And on a sunny Saturday morning in May, Killian walked across campus to meet Henry  at the field house so they could watch Emma receive her long-awaited diploma.


End file.
